Deductions and Declarations
by Sherlockian87
Summary: It's the annual Christmas party at Bart's and Molly is slightly drunk. Seeing as Sherlock has shot down every man she has ever been with she decides to ask him to deduce one for her; out of the available men at the party. What she ends up with is quite the unexpected. But what is going to happen when it suddenly appears that Moriarty wasn't exactly lying about Richard Brook?
1. Deductions and Declarations

Deductions and Declarations

* * *

Molly was drunk.

Well, not exactly drunk, but she was definitely tipsy. Tipsy enough for the majority of her inhibitions to have disappeared. She didn't exactly have many inhibitions, which may be a surprise to most; especially since she appeared as a rather quiet, shy, and _mousy_ sort of woman. There was though, one particular inhibition of hers that she absolutely abhorred. And the cause of this inhibition was none other than Sherlock Holmes.

_The World's Only Consulting Detective. _

Damn the man.

Damn his perfect suit (_it fit him so tightly!)._

Damn his purple shirt (_why did he look so delicious in that colour?_).

Damn his curls (_what would it feel like to run her fingers through them?)._

And damn that smirk. Molly gulped down the last bit of wine in her glass when she suddenly realized that she had been staring out right at him, and that he had noticed.

Damn him.

_Yes Molly, great way to start off the season's festivities by making an utter fool of yourself at the _Annual Christmas Party_ at Bart's!_ She poured herself another glass of wine, cringing as an obnoxious Christmas song blasted out through the nearby speakers. It wasn't that she didn't like Christmas music, she rather enjoyed it, but there were certain songs that she couldn't stand. She took slow, small sips of her wine, making sure now to pace herself.

"Hello Molly."

_ Shit._

Forcing a smile that she was certain would not reach her eyes; she turned, almost bumping her wine glass, nearly causing it to spill. _Why was he standing so close?_

"He-hello Sherlock."

_And there's the stammer. Damn him. _

He smiled down at her, appearing to be rather amused by the fact that he could make her so flustered. His smile slowly turned into a frown as he studied her face.

_Yes, deduce me like you always do. There's no stopping it, is there?_

"You're not enjoying yourself, are you?"

She paused with her glass mid-way to her mouth.

_No use lying to him. He's probably figured it all out anyway. Rather surprised he hasn't just gone and blurted it out like he always does. _

"No. I'm not. I would love nothing more than to not be here right now. I would much more prefer to be at home, curled up on my sofa with Toby, watching telly."

She took a large sip of her wine.

_So much for pacing myself. _

"I thought you liked parties."

She took a few more sips before answering, "Usually, yes. This year, no. Ever since breaking off my engagement with Tom I haven't felt in much of a festive mood. I only came because—"

"Mary forced you to."

Her eyes met his. Several moments passed in silence.

"I know for a fact that you're not one for social gatherings."

He hummed in agreement.

"Did John force you to come?" She hid her smile as she took another sip.

"Threatened actually."

She raised her eyebrows, "Threatened? That would be a sight."

"He may be short but he knows how to throw a punch."

Sherlock rubbed his nose in remembrance of the pain and gush of blood.

Silence fell between them again. The music shifted, from obnoxious to slow and soothing. There weren't often moments where she felt relaxed in his presence, but she did now. Perhaps though, that was simply because of the warmth of the wine rushing through her veins.

Suddenly she got an idea. A rather ridiculous idea. It was a stupid and foolish idea. An idea that would surely end with her feeling even worse about herself. But the alcohol coursing through her veins had put a damper on her ability to reason. So the words left her mouth before her conscience could stop her.

"How about you do me a favor Mr. Holmes?"

He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her, before leaning a hip against the table that they were standing in front of. He clasped his hands together.

"What sort of favor?"

With one final sip of wine she put down the empty glass, turning so that she was facing him fully.

"You've torn down every single boyfriend that I have ever had. And more or less scared off any potentials. You've told me that I'm better off on giving up on choosing one myself … so … why don't you put your deduction skills to use and see if _you_ can find me a man." She swept her hand over the room, "I know that there are quite a few single men here, let's see if you think that any of them are good enough for me."

He stood there for several moments, blinking rapidly. Then he stood up to his full height, shoving his hands into his pockets. Tearing his eyes away from her he began to scan the room. He nodded his head towards a tall, gangly, rather pale looking young man.

"Lives with his mother. She's completely immobile, due to a stroke. He's not looking for a relationship, but would gladly have sex with anyone, even if it means paying them."

"Uhm … okay … moving on?"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, a small smile starting to form. She could tell he was beginning to enjoy himself. This was a terrible idea.

"He has a foot fetish. Of the living and the dead."

Molly blinked, "He doesn't work in the morgue. He's three floors up, Cardiology."

Sherlock gave her a look, then continued on.

"Porn addict. Doesn't believe in cleansing. Religious. Sterile."

She huffed slightly as he continued to rattle off. He had nothing good to say about any of them.

"I think you've made your point. You've shot down every single guy here."

"Molly, I simply told the truth. No one here is worthy of you. Least of all … me."

She froze, her eyes widening. Slowly she turned to look at him. His stare was intense.

"Are you … are you saying, what I think you are saying?"

He swallowed, "Molly … I … I'm not good with talking about feelings and … sentiment …" He spat out the last word, "But I … I've come to find that I can't go on like this anymore. Every single man that you've dated, especially 'meat dagger,' hasn't remotely deserved you. That's why I always did … what I did …"

"You scared them off because you were … jealous?"

He huffed loudly.

"Molly … don't interrupt me while I'm trying to confess how I feel about you!"

Her eyes grew wider.

"But … every time I tried to ask you out, you always …"

He fidgeted, tearing his eyes away from hers, "I didn't want to hurt you."

"But you did. You always did, you always do. Throwing insults at me, deducing every little thing. You can't possibly have feelings for me."

He rested his palms on the table behind him, leaning against it, "That was a cover. I used the insults to mask my true feelings. Because … I didn't like it. I didn't like the way you made me feel. I had always believed that love was just a chemical defect, and then suddenly you showed up and began to prove me wrong." He brought his eyes up to meet hers, "The more I was around you, I came to realize how wrong I was. You were so selfless, always willing to help me even if you got nothing in return. That's when I began to enjoy how you made me feel. But Moriarty had to go and ruin it."

He stood up to his full height, turning to face her. Her lips were parted, her breaths coming in short even gasps. Sherlock knew that if he reached out to take her wrist, to feel her pulse, he would feel her heart racing.

"I meant what I said to you that night. I did need you. I think actually, I can thank him, because he made me realize how much I was in … love … with you."

Before Sherlock could say anything else Molly had reached up and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to her level so that she could press her lips to his. He hesitated for a moment, before slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her up against him, deepening the kiss.

They were both oblivious to all that was going on around them. Neither taking notice that both John and Mary had spotted them and we're smiling happily.

"About bloody time." John muttered under his breath, making Mary giggle.

Molly and Sherlock finally broke apart for air. Her hands were still fisted in his lapels; his arms were still about her waist. He stared down at her, a smile slowly creeping up on his face. She smiled up at him as well. He leaned forward again, but this time to press his lips to her neck, the tip of his nose brushing against the shell of her ear.

"Come home with me to Baker Street…" He panted.

She gave a nod in reply, unable to do anything else. Her ability for speech seemed to have left her. She felt him smile against her skin.

Taking her hand in his he gently tugged her towards the exit. She willingly followed, unsure if she was dreaming, if this was really happening. Had she drank so much that she had fallen into a stupor? No. This was real.

He smiled down at her while putting on his coat and scarf, as she did the same. They walked outside, the cold, bitter air hitting her in the face. She felt her head clearing, the effects of the alcohol slowing ebbing away. She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. She was going home with Sherlock Holmes. Her eyes flew open as she heard the sound of a car stopping in front of them. Sherlock had opened the cab door, waiting for her. She slid in, he behind her. After giving his address he leaned back into the seat, looking at her. They stared silently at each other the entire ride.

The cab stopped outside of Baker Street. Sherlock paid the fare and got out. He then turned around and held his hand out to her. She placed her hand in his, sliding out of the cab. As the car drove away they stood there, before the door of 221, looking at each other.

"Are we really doing this?"

He reached out to her, pulling her close, before leaning down and kissing her deeply. His hand snaking up to rest on her jaw line as the other held her waist, pressing her to him. He pulled away, his lips hovering directly above hers, as he breathlessly whispered his answer.

"Yes."


	2. The Morning After

The Morning After

* * *

Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, draping itself across the bed and onto the sheets. These said sheets were a rumpled mess. A rumpled mess wrapped around two pairs of legs. One of these pairs of legs, rather a bit hairier than the other pair, began to move. But they didn't move away from the other pair of legs, they in fact moved closer, rubbing up against them ever so slightly. A soft sigh escaped from the lips of the owner of the _other_ pair of legs. It was a gentle sound, barely discernible, but he was able to detect it.

"Molly … Molly, wake up."

An annoyed moan was the only response he was rewarded with. He rubbed his leg up against hers again, moving until his body was pressed flush against hers. This time he was rewarded with a moan of pleasure. His lips curled with a triumphant smile.

"Wake up, Molly."

She turned her face towards him, her eyes opening slowly, blinking away the sleep. _Not a sight I ever expected to see, but oh hell, what a sight! _His curls were mussed, sticking about in all directions. There was an obvious love bite on his neck, just below his jaw line. His pupils were blown wide, barely a hint of the blue-green sea that his eyes usually were. And he was smiling at her.

"Hello…" Her voice sounded odd, a bit raspy.

He dropped downwards to press a hungry kiss to her mouth. She lifted herself up, giving herself into the kiss, pressing her breasts to his chest. He held her against him, his arms curling about her waist, deepening the kiss.

"So last night wasn't a dream." She breathed. It wasn't a question, merely a statement spoken out loud to reassure her that all of this was very real.

He hummed against her mouth, kissing her again, "Does this feel like a dream to you?" He shifted their bodies so that she was seated directly on top of him. Her moan, he had to hold back one of his own, was a rather satisfying answer.

"Mmm … no, GOD! No, not at all."

His hands came to rest on her hips, moving her away from him ever so slightly. She let out a whimper then began to move on her own accord. The room filled with their breathy sighs and moans. She soon cried out, muffling it in his neck. He had bit down on her shoulder, and was now covering the bruised skin with kisses. Ever so gently he laid her down on her back, their legs stretching out, tangling together. They were both completely breathless, but still desperate to kiss; to extend the moment of their afterglow.

She had pressed her forehead into his chest, waiting for her breathing to slow. He was running his hands up and down her back, his fingertips tracing over her spine. She had the feeling that he was reciting the names of each of the bones as he touched them.

"Sherlock …?"

"Mmmm…"

"Do you have any paracetamol?

His hands stopped moving, "Head ache?"

"Mm, a little bit. Just a slight ache." She lifted her head and looked at him, "Drank too much of that awful wine." She winced slightly, recalling exactly why she had been doing that.

He studied her for a moment, "Let me check the bathroom, John might have left some when he moved out." He shifted away from her, slipping out from under the sheets and walking out of the room.

_Good God what a fantastic arse he has!_

Molly dropped her head to the mattress, her face most definitely turning bright red. She heard the soft padding of his feet as he returned and then the shifting of the bed as he laid back down next to her.

"Molly …"

She picked up her head and looked at him, he was holding out to her a glass of water and two pills. She took the glass and the pills. After swallowing the pills and downing all of the water, he took the empty glass from her and placed it on the bedside table. She shrieked slightly as he grabbed her, rapidly pulling her up against him. He chuckled, pressing his mouth to the skin right below her breasts.

"Sherlock … what is it exactly that we are doing?"

She felt him let out a huff of air before raising his head so that their eyes could meet.

"Reveling in post-coital bliss?"

The cheeky grin he gave her was rather un-Sherlock-like, but it was a sight that she could get used to.

"Not just at this very moment Sherlock, I mean all of this. Last night … now … what are we?"

_Nothing like getting straight to the point! Damnit Molly, why can't you just leave well enough alone and enjoy what is happening right here, right now? _

It was clear he was computing her question; his eyes had gone a bit unfocused, his pupils narrowing.

"Lo-ov-ers." He spoke the word slowly, his mouth not accustomed to speaking it.

She hesitated; unsure, frightened by what he was laying out before her. How should she proceed? Did he truly, really want to be with her? Judging by just his actions alone, last night and a few minutes ago, it would appear so.

"Are we?"

He slowly raised his eyes to meet hers, his pupils blown wide again and she was certain that her own were mirroring his.

"If you want to be. You do, want to be? Don't you?"

_Wait a second, Sherlock Holmes nervous? Sherlock Holmes unsure? _

"Yes."

He let out a great rush of air. His once tense body now relaxed. Leaning forward he pressed his mouth to hers. She could feel him smiling against her lips. For several minutes the only sound in the room was their soft sighs and pants as they only broke apart to catch their breath before delving into each other once more. Suddenly the sound of her stomach growling broke through the silence. She let out an embarrassed laugh as he leaned back from her.

"You're hungry."

"Mmm yeah, it would appear so."

"I don't know if I have any food."

She rolled her eyes, not surprised whatsoever, "Well, let's go and see anyway. You should eat something too."

He made a face, but she chose to ignore it as she slipped out of the bed. He followed her, somewhat annoyed that she wanted to leave the bed already. His annoyance soon ebbed away though as he watched her grab up one of his dressing gowns and slip it on. She smiled as he stood there staring at her, his mouth agape.

"See something you like?"

He swallowed, stepping towards her, "Most definitely."

It was her turn for a cheeky grin. She left her eyes drift down his body before flitting up to his face, "So do I."

He swallowed again, "You better stop Molly, or we're not going to make it to the kitchen."

She let out a gleeful little laugh as she tossed another of his dressing gowns at him and hurried out of the bedroom. He quickly slipped it on, following after her, not exactly wanting her out of his sight.

Sherlock Holmes was not a domestic man. He never had been. Even while growing up he always preferred being out away from the house, exploring (playing pirates). But this, sitting here at his kitchen table, eating toast and drinking tea with Molly sitting beside him, this was something he could very much so get used to.


	3. Domestic Bliss?

Domestic Bliss?

* * *

"Oh bloody hell!" Molly exclaimed as she closed the door of her flat behind her, taking instant note of the Belstaff hung up nearby, "Sherlock! I really don't understand why you keep doing this! If you want to come home with me, than just come home with me!"

_Insufferable man. _

She switched on the light, revealing him stretched out on her sofa. She shook her head as she carried her Tesco bags into the kitchen. She heard him get up and follow her.

"It would be much easier if you would just come home with me, to Baker Street, permanently."

She spun around, facing him. He was standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame.

"I already told you, no! Not yet. I'm not moving in with you. I am not giving up my flat, not yet."

He moved forward until he was standing directly in front of her. She stepped back bumping into the counter. He placed his hands flat on either side of her, trapping her in. His face was directly in front of hers. Their eyes locked on each other's.

_Damn him. Why does he have to smell so good?_

"Why? I don't understand. Why? I don't like not knowing."

_Hmm … that's new. Sherlock Holmes not knowing. Fascinating. _

She broke away from his gaze, "Space." She stated flatly.

"Space?" He pondered this word, the inner workings of his mind trying to grasp onto what she meant.

"Yes, space Sherlock. I need space, and I know you do too. We've been together for less than a month! We shouldn't rush into anything. And moving in together, right now, is rushing."

He frowned, "But I want you with me. I need you. Baker Street is horribly boring without you! You hardly ever stay the night, why is that?"

She sighed, "Lack of food is one."

His frown deepened, "If I had food, you'd stay?"

"Yes. I would stay over more often. Not permanently though." She added that last part because his eyes had started to brighten; thinking that he had at last gotten her to accept his proclamation.

He huffed, "You really are extremely stubborn."

"Look who is talking."

His eyes narrowed, then suddenly she spotted a particular gleam.

_Oh no. I know what that look means. You've caught on to an idea, haven't you? And I know exactly what it is!_

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare get Mycroft to have his men remove my things to your flat! You think I can't see what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours Sherlock, but I can!"

He growled in annoyance, but she only smile cheekily at him.

"How about a compromise?"

Before she could continue speaking he spat out a definitive "No." He stepped away from her, walking out of the kitchen.

_Great. The sulking five year old has returned! Honestly. _

Stepping into the living room she found him curled up on the sofa, his back to her. She walked over, laying down behind him, and putting her arm over his waist, her hand gripping onto his wrist.

"Stop it. I can hear you pouting."

His only response was an indignant humph.

"Sherlock. Look at me."

He grumbled under his breath as he rolled over, facing her. She cupped the side of his face with her hand.

_Damn you, you beautiful man!_

"Why does it mean so much to you? My moving in to Baker Street?"

He leaned into her hand, "I want to take care of you."

_Well, doesn't that beat all?_

She fought back a laugh, "Sherlock, you can barely take care of yourself!"

His pout returned, "With you it would be different."

She raised her eyebrows, "Would it?"

"Yes."

She blinked at him, "If I did move in, IF, could I still keep my flat?"

"Whatever for?" He scoffed.

"To escape to when you get particularly annoying."

He rolled his eyes, "Fine."

_Molly: 1, Sherlock: 0._

"And another thing …"

He sighed, but smirked slightly as she leaned in to him.

"No more severed body parts in the fridge."

He groaned.

"We'll get you another one specifically for that."

"Hmph."

"It's not sanitary, you dolt! But do feel free to continue with your experiments. I rather like the way you look with your safety goggles on."

His eyes widened slightly, before he slipped his hand over her waist and on to her lower back.

"Molly Hooper, do you have a science kink?"

She gave him another cheeky smile, "Don't you have a kink for me in my lab coat?"

He silenced her with a kiss.

"So you will?" His eyes were still filled with doubt.

_Who is this strange, unsure Sherlock?_

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Yes Sherlock, I'll move in with you."

"About bloody time."

He pulled her body flush up against his as he kissed her again.

_I'd say that our score is now a tie. _

All of her thoughts were quickly dismissed as he began to do away with her clothing.


	4. There is Another One

There is Another One

* * *

Three days later Molly was quite settled in to Baker Street. She had brought over most of her clothes, a pile of book and other womanly essentials, and of course, Toby her cat. Sherlock had just rushed off on a case, looking like a child on Christmas morning, leaving her to mull over what to make for herself for dinner.

_Typical. I shouldn't have expected anything less. _

Toby mewled at her feet, breaking her from her thoughts. She fed him then decided on beans on toast for herself. Settling down at the table, being careful not to disturb Sherlock's microscope, she began to ponder how in fact she had gotten here, in this very situation.

_The Christmas party at Bart's. I had almost not gone to it_. _Would he have ended up confessing to me in some other way, some other situation, if I hadn't gone?_

Shaking her head she stood to clean up the mess Toby had made with his food.

_Silly to think about it Molly! It happened. It's done. And you're here, living with him. _

She let out an ecstatic giggle as she sat back down at the table. The fact that he wanted to be with her, sent an electric current through her body. Suddenly the sound of the front door slamming shut brought her back to the here and now. Frantic footsteps ran up the stairs.

"Molly?!"

She stood, "In the kitchen!"

Sherlock rushed in, pulling her in to his body, practically crushing her to him. He was panting heavily. _Did he run all the way here?_

"What's wrong?"

"Richard Brook is real."

She leaned back, staring up at him with wide eyes, "What?"

"Richard Brook isn't a fallacy. He exists. He is James Moriarty's identical twin brother."

Molly's mouth dropped open, "That can't be."

"But it is. He's the one who sent out the video. Every lead that Mycroft had in finding the source always led to a dead end, but now we found him. Or, he found us. He has to be stopped. I don't know what he'll do. I have no idea if he is anything like his brother. He must be smart though, he kept me off the trail of the source of the video for nearly a year." Sherlock moved his hands to her shoulders, "I have to keep you safe Molly. He'll find out that you helped me fake my death. He might already know. I must keep you safe."

She had never seen him look like this, except for on the night he had asked her for her help. _He's really frightened, he's really truly frightened. _

"Keep me safe, how? If Brook is anything like his brother, nowhere is safe."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "There's a house in Scotland, very remote. Mycroft is already having his men prepare it. You'll go there with Mrs. Hudson and Mary."

Molly stepped back slightly, "NO! I'm not running off and hiding away. What about my job?"

"Oh hang your job! Your life is far more important!"

She had now fully stepped out of his grasp, "And what of your life? Is it not just as important? Moriarty nearly succeeded in killing you, who is to say that his brother won't? Do not for one moment think that I will just sit back and let you go off and risk your life. I don't want any part of that. I helped you once, but I won't fake your death for a second time. I do not want you to become a body on my slab, not for real. I won't go through that again."

His arms had fallen down to his sides. He had never heard her speak like this. Of course he was all too well aware of the paid he had forced her to bear those two years he was off being _dead_, but to hear her voice it, created a whole new realization.

"Molly. Molly please." His tone was ragged, low, hardly a whisper. She stood her ground, not stepping back into his beckoning arms.

_Be brave Molly. Be strong. _

"If you're going to go after him, then I am coming with you. I want to be by your side. I can help you. Let me help you."

He knew by the look on her face that there was no use arguing with her. She had made a decision and she would hold to it. He nodded and she at last stepped back into his arms. She folded herself in to his embrace, as he held on to her tightly.

"It's no wonder that I love you. You're as ridiculously stubborn as I am."

Molly chuckled into his neck before leaning back in order to kiss him.

_Don't over-react. Yes. He just stated that he loved you, but DON'T over-react._

His voice broke through her thoughts, "We will leave for Scotland in the morning. I wish sooner, but that can't exactly be helped."

"We still have to go to Scotland?"

"Yes. London isn't safe, and Baker Street most definitely isn't. We need to get out of here and conjure a plan; a plan of how to lure Richard Brook from his nest."

Molly sighed, "I suppose bringing Toby isn't an option?"

"Nope."

"Fine. I'll bring him to Meena's."


	5. You Take the High Road

**Hello all! Glad to know that this has attracted so much attention and that you all seem to be enjoying it so much!**

**I am certainly enjoying writing it!**

**So intentionally I wrote this as an entirely fluffy story, but now my mind has decided to throw in a bit of drama.**

**Hope you like it, and that I've done a convincing job ...**

**Keep the reviews/comments coming! I love reading them! They really put a smile on my face :)**

* * *

You Take the High Road and I'll Take the Low Road

* * *

The air was bitter, laced with fog, as they drove towards the air field where they would be taking a helicopter to Scotland. Baby Scarlett Watson was fussing; clearly picking up on the tension that the adults were filling the car with. If Mycroft had been with them she would have been wailing. Not that he would have shown it, but she would have been able to sense it. She was a rather intelligent baby, especially for a three-month old. One of the many reasons that Sherlock doted on her (as did Mycroft, but that was rather secretly).

Sherlock was grasping on to Molly's hand, her head resting on his shoulder. The night before he had allowed himself to fall asleep in her arms; the steady beating of her heart helping him to quiet and calm his mind. He had locked away every sensation, every rush of pleasure, the very smell of her into a room in his mind palace. He wanted to be able to remember it all. He wouldn't allow himself to dwell on the reason as to why he had done that.

An hour later they landed upon the grounds of the Safe House. Baby Scarlett had been given a low dosage sedative, administered carefully by Sherlock, so that she had slept through the entire helicopter ride. Molly had never been in a helicopter before and she wasn't entirely certain if she ever wanted to do so again. All thoughts of the helicopter experience fled from her mind as she stepped down and gained a full view of where they would be staying.

_This is a Safe House? More like a Safe Mansion!_

Molly turned to Sherlock, "This is where we are staying?"

He sighed slightly, "Yes. Sadly. I'd prefer something a bit less ostentatious but I suppose being the British Government can have its perks. This house is owned by the Royal Family."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Molly's mouth dropped open in shock and awe, "Let's get inside. There is work to be done."

The inside of the house was just as ornate as the outside. Sherlock ended up having to grab a hold of Molly's hand to lead her up the stairs and to the bedroom they would be sharing. She had been standing in the entryway looking at the swords that hung upon the wall and the Royal Family crest. The room that Sherlock brought her to was rather large, and yet cozy as well. There was a fireplace and a rather massive bed that looked quite inviting; inviting for a bit more than just sleeping.

_Not that he'll be in the frame of mind any time soon for that sort of thing. _

She made a face before turning her focus to Sherlock. He had opened one of his bags and was searching through it, "Refresh yourself Molly, if you need to. We'll be meeting downstairs with Mycroft shortly."

Nodding she walked to her suitcase and unzipped it in order to take out her bathroom bag. _A good scrub of the face is what I need right now! I'm sure I look a right mess. _Going in to the bathroom, which is almost made entirely of marble, she gawks for a moment before remembering to focus on the task at hand. After making herself a bit more presentable she was walking out of the bathroom when she let out a small squeak as Sherlock grabbed her about the waist. He had pressed his mouth to hers in a deep kiss. When he pulled away she blinked up at him.

"Wha-what was that for?"

He hadn't loosened his hold on her, "I don't know what these next few days, possibly weeks, will bring. You know how I get when I am on a case."

"A bit more dickish?"

"Don't interrupt me! You know what I mean. I don't want you to think that you're not important to me. You are, very much so."

She leaned into him, her forehead resting against his, "I know Sherlock, don't worry. I'll be here every step of the way, right beside you. You won't have to face anything alone."

His eyes fall closed, "Alone. I used to think that alone was what protected me." His eyes opened and met hers, "You've proven that belief wrong."

She smiled slightly before giving him a gentle kiss, "Come on; let's go see what Mycroft has to say."

Grabbing up his laptop they walk out of their room, down the hall to the large stairwell. It's clear that Sherlock knows his way about.

"Have you been here before?"

"Yes. We are ahh … rather distantly related to the Royal Family. But it is really all thanks to my mother that we have such a close ahh … relationship. Her maths thing." He swatted the air as if trying to dismiss the subject.

_Guess that's the end of that conversation. _

They walked into a large room, which Molly decided must be the dining room. A large dark wood table sat directly in the center, tapestry's hung upon the walls, a roaring fire filled the room with warmth and light. Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, his PA Anthea standing behind him tapping away on her phone. Mary and John were there as well. Molly and Sherlock joined them at the table "Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

John turned to Molly, "She told us she didn't want to know what we were going to be doing, that she was perfectly content with staying in her room. We left Scarlett with her."

Mycroft cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, "Enough of this tittle tattle, we have important things to discuss."

It is then that Molly noticed for the first time a large projector screen at the other end of the room. They have all turned their attention towards it. Upon the screen was playing several different shots of CCTV footage. Despite clearly being taken in different areas of London, the footage appears to be identical. Richard Brook, the exact replica of James Moriarty, is seen getting out of a black car, looking up and down the street before entering the building. The footage plays on a loop.

_To think that I once dated his brother._

With an inward shiver Molly looked away from the screen.

"This is all we currently have of Richard Brook. There has been no other sight of him and he has made no communications. Every single time that my men have entered these buildings they have found them to be both abandoned and completely empty. He has disappeared entirely. He wants to be seen but it appears to not yet want to be found." Mycroft shifted through some papers as he says this.

"A spider." Sherlock muttered, "Just like his brother."

"What does he want?" Molly's voice sounds small, she cleared her throat, "He released the video of Moriarty, why?"

A pinched look comes upon Mycroft's face, "The man in the video is not Moriarty it is Brook. He wants our attention. But as to why, we do not know. He has not communicated beyond that video."

John at last spoke up, "Why would he allow almost a year to go by before letting us know who released and created the video? Isn't that what he did Sherlock? He kept you off the trail entirely."

Sherlock ignored the question, tapping away at his laptop; he was looking at his blog and emails. But not because he was bored, he was trying to find something.

"It's a game. James always liked to play games. So of course his brother would too." Sherlock spun his laptop around so that they all could see the screen. He had minimized a multitude of internet pages, arranging them until the content from his emails and comments on his blog formed a perfect I O U.

Molly felt herself grow cold. She wanted to reach out to Sherlock, to grab a hold of him but she wasn't certain that he would appreciate her touch at the moment.

Sherlock continued, "For the passed six months I have been receiving these garbled emails and comments on my blog. I ignored them, as I usually do when I receive spam, but there was always something that drew me back to them; piqued my interest. Now I know why. It's him."

Mycroft tapped his fingers on the table, "Are they traceable?"

"No."

"Then they are useless."

"Not entirely. This is the exact same message that Moriarty used to give me. Brook wants to play, and he is giving me the pieces, I just have to put them together."


	6. Shit Shot

Shit Shot

* * *

_ Bloody hell is it cold!_

Molly was shivering. Not only because of the earlier conversation but also because of the fact that this house barely held in any heat. There was a fire going, but it still had yet to warm their bedroom.

Sherlock was sitting in one of the chairs nearby the fireplace, the light of the flickering flames dancing upon his cheekbones. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin, his eyes were closed. Molly was sifting through her suitcase, looking for her pyjamas.

"When this is all over and done with you are taking me somewhere warm and tropical Sherlock Holmes!"

"Mmmm. All right."

She straightened quickly, surprised to have gotten a response from him. His eyes were still closed. _I'll make certain to hold you to that! _She went and changed in the bathroom and brushed her teeth. When she walked out back into the bedroom, Sherlock was stretched out on the bed leaning against the headboard with his laptop perched on his legs. He had also changed into his pyjamas.

Climbing up on to the bed, it was rather high for her, she fluffed up her pillow and grabbed the novel she had placed earlier on the nightstand. She quickly covered herself with the sheet and blanket; Sherlock was laying on top of them. Letting out a satisfied sigh, she was already beginning to feel warmer; she curled herself in to him before opening up her book. He shifted his arm suddenly, moving it so that it was around her shoulders her head coming to rest near his rib cage. She hid her smile behind her book as he continued to tap away at his laptop with his other hand. He brought up the CCTV footage, watching it closely.

"He's telling me something. These places are important, but why?"

Molly lifted her eyes from her book, ignoring the footage and instead looking up at Sherlock. He looked annoyed, frustrated.

"Why Scotland?"

His gaze shifted to her, "What?"

"Why Scotland? Why are we here? Why didn't we just go to a Safe House somewhere in London?"

He huffed, "Mycroft. He wants to lure Brook out of London. Apparently keeping the Commonwealth safe is important." He shrugged as he finished saying this.

Molly rolled her eyes, "And what about the rest of England?"

"Mmmm … I suppose them as well."

Letting out a soft sigh she returned to her book and he to tapping away at his laptop. A half hour passed and Molly's eyes were starting to droop closed. She sat up, putting the book back on the night stand; Sherlock's arm having fallen down to her waist from her movements. She moved to get off the bed.

"Where are you going?"

She turned and looked and him, "Just to the loo. I'll be right back."

"Do. Your presence helps me think."

Smiling slightly she hurried off to the bathroom wondering to herself, _why did it have to be that Moriarty and Brook were what brought us together? _

Returning to the bed she curled herself back into Sherlock, grateful for the warmth of him. He put his arm about her again. Just as she is about to drift off his voice awakened her. She should probably be annoyed by this fact, but she isn't.

"Molly, have you ever shot a fire arm?"

"Uhhhmmmm … no."

"Hmm … I'll have to teach you then. If you insist on staying by my side then you need to know how to defend yourself. We'll start tomorrow. Go to sleep now, I'll wake you in the morning."

"All right."

* * *

The sound of shots fired echoed around them. Not a single bullet had hit the desired target.

"Just say it Sherlock. I am a complete and utter shit shot."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I think I would use a better choice of words than that. Honestly Molly."

"It's no use. I'm horrible at this. I'm much more accustomed to working with something far more slight in my hands, like a scalpel."

They are surrounded by a cloud of fog, the target now no longer visible. The fog shifted, filled with shadows that caused Molly to shiver.

_I swear this place is haunted!_

"Have you ever thrown a knife?"

Molly looked at Sherlock, "No. I used to play darts when I was in uni though. I was quite good."

Sherlock walked over to the table where a variety of weapons are laid out. He picked up a knife that is sleek and small, easy to conceal, "Come here." He beckoned to her. Taking her hand in his he placed the knife carefully against her palm, "Hold it like this, treat it as if you are holding a dart." The fog shifted again, giving them a clear view of the target. She can feel the warmth of his body as he pressed himself into the back of her, "Now throw." His voice is low, directly against her ear.

She threw the knife, it hitting the bull's eye directly.

"I think we've found your weapon of choice."

For the next hour Sherlock worked with her, showing her a variety of moves to fight with. She's hesitant at first, afraid she'll hurt him, but he tells her that she needn't be worried. She is a doctor, she'll be able to stitch him up fine, if need be.

_Perhaps I'm not the only one who shouldn't joke. _

As they walked back into the house John motioned to them, "Mycroft has found something." They hurried into the dining room. Up on the projector screen is an image. Spray painted onto the walls of an old factory building are the words, "**I**'m ready t**O** come o**U**t and play."

Sherlock stared at it, taking it all in, "I O U. The same message again. Where is this?"

The same pinched look appeared on Mycroft's face, "I don't know. Yet. He sent it on the same server that he released the video on."

Sherlock let out a growl of annoyance. John stood with his hands in his pockets not entirely sure of what to say or do. Molly felt the same way. Sherlock approached the screen analyzing every section of the image.

"There must be something more here. There has to be. He wants us to find him. I am sure of it. He won't hide for much longer. Hiding is boring. He'll make his move soon."


	7. Anticipation

**WARNING: **Sorry, I get a little gruesomely detailed here … but I make up for it with some sexy times towards the end!

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

:)

Anticipation

* * *

Nothing.

No one had been able to find a single clue to tell them where the photo had been taken. It was in an abandoned factory or warehouse for sure, but other than that there were no visual clues as to what the factory had once been used for.

Sherlock had printed out the image of the message, as well as the images of Richard Brook from the CCTV footage and th he had created with Sherlock's emails and blog comments. He had pinned them all to the wall of the dining room, near the projector screen. While Sherlock studied these images and mulled in his Mind Palace, John and Mary took the time to continue to practice with Molly.

She was actually rather enjoying it. The focus she needed to perform each of the moves properly kept her from the fact that they had yet to find Brook, as well as the fact that potentially at any moment he could make his move; destroying anything and anyone that he wished. Knowing that she now had the ability to defend herself left her feeling a bit better.

John's voice broke through her thoughts, "He may be his twin brother, but he's not entirely like him. Moriarty would not have held out this long. It's a good thing Sherlock eradicated Sebastian Moran when he did. If he had been alive I am quite certain that Brook would have used him to his full potential."

The three of them had walked back in to the house, desperate for a nice cup of tea to take the chill out of their bones. The dreary weather had yet to improve. Sherlock was still standing where Molly had left him, in front of his wall of images. A pot of tea and cups were sitting on the table. Mycroft was standing at the other end of the room talking on his mobile. After pouring a cup of tea Molly walked over to Sherlock and picked up his hand which had been hanging down at his side. She curled it around the cup and without taking his gaze from the wall he took it with both hands, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a sip.

"Thank you Molly."

Her eyes widened slightly, a bit shocked that he could even acknowledge another's presence when he was so deeply involved in a case.

"Stop it Molly. You're thinking very loudly. I always know when you are there."

Smiling she walked away from him and poured herself a cuppa. Settling down in a chair she let out a satisfied sigh. Mary had already gone upstairs to check on baby Scarlet. John was resting his eyes in a chair across from Molly.

"Sherlock."

Mycroft's biting tone cut through the room. All eyes turned to him, Sherlock rotating on his heel.

"There has been a new development. I have just spoken with Detective Inspector Lestrade, clearly him choosing to stay in London has been a wise choice. There was a murder, a man. A body was found in one of the abandoned buildings that Brook was photographed entering. The body has been taken to St. Bart's morgue. Lestrade will be sending photos of the victim." His mobile pinged, "Ahh, here they are now."

_Damn. I wish I could be there for the autopsy. _

The images began to appear on the projector screen. Molly quickly gulped down the sip of tea she had just taken.

_Never mind. I'm glad I am here. _

The body had been brutally treated. He was naked, and yet anything that could be used to make the man recognizable had been removed. Carved crudely into the man's chest were the letters I O U.

"Do they know who the victim is?" Sherlock questioned.

"Lestrade told me that they are running a DNA sample now. That will take approximately –"

"Three hours." Molly cut in.

Sherlock turned to look at her, before stepping over to her, "Are you all right?"

She knows that he can deduce her answer before she even speaks it. But he is waiting for her to let him know.

"Yes. It's just Moriarty never did anything quite like this before, did he?"

Sherlock's eyes shifted slightly, "Well, he did blow up an old woman."

"What?"

Mycroft's voice cuts in once more, "This is not the time for whom did what, leave that for later. Sherlock study these photos, deduce what you can. Have Miss Hooper help you, since it is her speciality."

"_Doctor_ Hooper." Sherlock spat at him.

"Boys behave."

The two men looked at John. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched slightly. Molly stood and walked over to the screen.

"Once we know the identity of the man that may tell us more. He could very well be not connected, just someone Brook simply chose to use. Perhaps he was an easy target."

Sherlock had his hands steepled, "Possibly. But nothing that these men do is done without a purpose. He killed this man because he is important. He must be another clue."

"His face has been completely demolished, his scalp removed. Why would Brook go to such great lengths to disguise this man's identity?"

Sherlock smirked slightly, "Always one for dramatics."

Molly narrowed her eyes at him before returning to the images. "This isn't dramatic. This is barbaric." She stepped closer to the screen, "I O U. I O U." She whispered this under her breath, "Why have they both used that message? What does it mean?"

Sherlock dismissed her question with a wave of his hand, deeming it not worthy of an answer. Turning back around she moved her gaze to the images once more.

Sometime later, after everyone had had lunch, Sherlock not eating a bite, Mycroft returned to the room.

"Lestrade has found out the man's name."

Sherlock's hand twitched; clearly annoyed by the fact that Lestrade is no longer directly communicating with him.

"Albert Fall."

Mycroft waited a moment, looking to see if this garners a reaction from anyone. It doesn't.

"He was a binman. No family connection to Moriarty and Brook."

"Albert Fall." Sherlock muttered this to him self, turning back to the photos, "Albert Fall."

* * *

Sherlock hadn't come to bed that night. Molly had slept fitfully, a pile of blankets heaped upon her since she didn't have the warmth of his body near her. He and Mycroft were in the dining room where she had left them the night before; neither appeared to have slept. She sat herself down at the table, breakfast had been laid out. Helping herself to a soft roll she nibbled it idly as she poured herself a cup of coffee and one for Sherlock. _Black, two sugars. _She brought it over to him, the Holmes brother's conversation coming to an end. Mycroft stood with a huff walked out of the room. Sherlock took the coffee from her.

"Thank you."

"Any new developments?"

"Frustratingly, no."

Molly returned to her breakfast, as Mycroft walked back into the room followed by John and Mary. Mycroft sat in front of his lap top, John and Mary taking a seat near Molly. No one spoke, not wanting to interfere with the great minds of the Holmes' train of thought.

As the days continued to pass Sherlock grew more and more agitated. He began pacing the room. He wasn't speaking to anyone, but his lips were always moving, muttering silently. He would occasionally run his hands through his curls, mussing them. Molly hadn't spoken a word either, knowing that he was desperately trying to put the pieces of the puzzle of this mad, twisted game together in his mind. But she had had enough; she could only handle watching him abuse his body for so long. He hadn't slept for six whole days, nor had he eaten for the passed four. His usually pale skin was even paler, bringing out the purple marks under his eyes.

_I can't take this anymore. If I don't do something now he may just spontaneously combust! Either that or I will!_

Jumping to her feet she grabbed Sherlock's hand just as he passed her. With a rather harsh tug she led him towards the door.

"Molly! What the hell are you doing?!"

His tone was bitter, annoyed, aggravated, all of the above. She chose to ignore it completely, continuing to tug him down the hall to the stairs. He was stronger than her, he could have easily pulled himself out of her grip, but he didn't. Perhaps somewhere deep down inside of himself he knew that whatever her intentions were, were only going to help him.

They reached their bedroom. She closed the door behind him and locked it, at last releasing his hand. For a moment they both stood there eyeing each other.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" He spoke each word slowly.

_ This plan of yours better work, Molly! _

She stepped towards him, tilting her face upwards, "Distracting you." She answered.

His eyes widened, "What? No. NO! Not now! I can't now. I need to focus!"

She pressed her fingers to his lips, "Sherlock, you aren't focusing at all. You can't focus. You're exhausted. You need to sleep and to eat an actual meal. You can't keep doing this to yourself! You're nearly forty years old, continue on like this and you'll kill yourself. It was fine when you were younger, but not now. You need to quiet your mind. You told me once before that when you're _with_ me everything shuts down, that all you can focus on and think of is me. I think you need to do that."

He shook his head and stepped backwards, but she could already see that his eyes were starting to dilate. He may fight it, but she knew that she had him hooked.

_I may not be much of a seductress, but I know exactly how to arouse you. _

"You need a release Sherlock. I've never seen you so wound up before." She stepped forward, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, standing on her tip toes so that her lips were hovering directly over his, "Make love to me Sherlock. You always feel better after you do. I need you. We all need you. But I need you more."

"Damnit woman!" He growled as he pulled her flush up against him, crashing his lips to hers.

They kissed hungrily for a time, removing each other's clothing. When they were both entirely naked he nudged her towards the bed. She dropped backwards onto the mattress, his body quickly covering hers. His lips were hot and wet as they left kisses all over her skin.

"That's it Sherlock. Close your mind, quiet it. Think of only us. Of you and of me." She murmured softly to him.

_Fuck, what is it about his mouth on me that feels so good? _

His movements became desperate, frantic. No time for foreplay or drawn out pleasure. He needed her, she needed him. Both thankful that their room was in the farthest corner of the house, (_did he choose it on purpose?_), neither one of them held back their noises. He had never heard her be so vocal.

_This is what you've done to me Sherlock. This is how you make me feel. _

He collapsed on top of her, both panting desperately. He moved over ever so slightly, so that his body wasn't crushing hers. She kissed him slowly, almost lazily. He nuzzled her with his nose before moving downwards to bury his face in her neck. She held on to him, moving her fingers through his soft curls.

"Thank you." She felt, more than heard him murmur this in to her skin. He picked up his head and looked down at her, "I don't know how I've survived this long without you."

_Well, that's a confession I never expected from him._

Molly raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening, "Half-living?" She suggested. He chuckled, then hummed with pleasure as she hitched a leg over his hip, rubbing herself up against him.

They made love again, this time slowly. There was no rush here, no instant need of release. They allowed themselves the time to explore each other's bodies, discovering what sort of touches elicited noises. Afterwards, curled into each other, Molly was stroking her fingers along the outline of his face.

"Sleep now Sherlock, rest."

She could see that his eyes were growing heavy, but that he was trying to fight it.

"You'll feel so much better tomorrow, if you do."

His arm that was wrapped around her waist, nudged her, telling her that he wanted her up higher. She did as he asked, her breasts coming to rest just above his rib cage. She pressed feather light kisses along his neck. With a satisfied sigh he at last let his eyes drop completely closed. She smiled, before closing her own eyes. One last thought drifting through her mind as sleep overtook her.

_I don't know which one of us needs the other more. _


	8. Puzzle Solver

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

:)

Puzzle Solver

* * *

Sherlock woke with a start, momentarily forgetting where he was. His mind felt too blank, too clear. It was quiet. Closing his eyes again he forced himself to focus. Everything began to drift back in. Moriarty, Brook, Albert Fall. Suddenly he saw the image of Molly's naked form beneath him. His eyes flew open. He remembered everything now. He felt Molly shift against him, the brush of her naked skin against his. He looked down at her. Her lips were slightly parted, her hair falling over her face. He knew that at an earlier time he would have hated her for what he had done; forcing him to give in to his own bodily desires. He didn't hate her though. Couldn't hate her. He was in fact grateful for what she had done; his mind did feel clearer now. He would be able to view the case afresh. Ever so slowly he began to move away from her.

_Oh no you don't!_

Molly's voice broke through the silence of the room, "Don't you dare Sherlock Holmes! You are eating a full meal before returning to the case!"

He fell back against the pillows with an annoyed humph, "Molly!"

She slipped her body up over his, straddling his stomach, "Sherlock!"

Residing himself to the fact that she would not back down, he let out a sigh before cupping her face and bringing her down to him for a kiss. Letting out a sigh of her own she returned the kiss before slipping off of him.

"Put some clothes on. Then ..." She glanced at the clock; _did we really sleep for that long? _"Breakfast!"

After they are both dressed he followed her into the dining room where John and Mary are already seated. Mary wiggled her eyebrows at Molly suggestively, causing a blush to rise on her cheeks. Mycroft is nowhere in sight. Sherlock is grateful for this, not exactly wanting his brother as a witness to the fact that Molly Hooper has all but just wrapped him around her finger.

Sitting himself down beside her he poured himself a cup of coffee as Molly prepared a plate for him. She set in down in front of him, before pouring herself a cup of coffee. John stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth as Sherlock picked up a slice of toast and took a bite.

"You got him to eat?" John mouthed silently to Molly.

She smiled gleefully at him before glancing at Sherlock. He doesn't see this silent conversation, his eyes focused on his wall. She gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow. He finished his toast and dove into his eggs.

_Molly: 2, Sherlock: 0!_

Between bites of egg and toast he had returned his gaze to the wall, his eyes roaming over the images.

"I O U." Bite of toast, "Albert Fall." Chew. Swallow. "A. Fall." The rest of the toast dropped from Sherlock's fingers, " Fall." He jumped to his feet, rushing over to the collection of photos.

" Fall? He murdered that man because his name shortened is A. Fall?" Molly questioned.

"It would appear so."

Mycroft walked into the room just as Sherlock answered her. He spun about facing him, "I need a list of the name of every area in Scotland, including the islands. And maps. I need maps. I believe Richard Brook is in Scotland."

* * *

The table was littered with maps and lists. Sherlock had been pouring over them for hours. Mycroft hadn't been seen for sometime now. Molly, Mary and John hadn't left the dining room, knowing all too well how Sherlock had the tendency to ask for someone (John) to hand him something (usually his mobile, which always happened to be in his jacket pocket).

"Inverness, Orkney, Ullapool. I O U. No! That doesn't make any sense!" Sherlock shoved away the map he had been studying, moving on to a different one, "John! Give me the list of the buildings that Brook was seen entering." He held his hand out, never look up from the map.

John gave him a weary expression. The paper that Sherlock wanted was directly beside his elbow. Molly covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh. John handed the paper to Sherlock. He took it, at last tearing his eyes away from the map. He studied the list, his eyes moving rapidly over the names.

"It's a skip code. But not of whole words; letters. Just like in his first message. I O U." He put the paper down, "Pen." John tossed him one, Sherlock catching it perfectly.

"L, O, C, H, L, A, N, E."

Molly had walked over to see what he was writing down, "Lochlane. Lochlane?"

Sherlock lifted his head, "This must be where Brook is." He grabbed at the map, pulling it closer muttering "Lochlane" under his breath as he searched for it, "Here." He tapped his finger tip upon the spot, "That's forty-eight kilometers from us."

John, Mary and Molly leaned forward to look at the spot where Sherlock had pointed to.

"So, what do we do now then? Just go and show up there?"

Sherlock stared at John with a bit of disdain, "No. I need to make contact with him first, let him know I figured out his little puzzle."

"Contact him? How?"

Sherlock was about to answer Molly when his eyes lit up with a thought, "I know exactly." He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and opened up his contacts list. He scrolled through it until he came to James Moriarty.

"You kept his number?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Let's see if he'll answer."

John held back a biting remark. Molly could practically see the words forming over his head in a speech bubble. _Oh yes, let's see if a dead man can text from beyond the grave! _ Sherlock was oblivious to this as he began to tap away on his phone.

"I'm ready to come out and play. LOCHLANE – SH"

Everyone waited with bated breath; neither of them sure if this would work. Well, Sherlock was rather certain. A reply didn't come until several minutes later.

"Expected to hear from you sooner. I'm looking forward to at last meeting you, The Great Sherlock Holmes. Come alone. NO GUNS. NO PHONES. I'll know if you bring them. Do be sure to bring your doctors. – RB"

Molly sucked in a breath as she read the message. Sherlock turned and looked at her.

"You told me you wanted to stay by my side. Do you still want to do that?"

Without a moments hesitation she nodded yes. He stood and walked towards the door.

"I need to let Mycroft know about these new developments. Ready yourselves, we will be leaving soon."

Mary grabbed on to her husband's arm, "I'm coming with you."

John turned towards her, "No Mary, you're not."

"But John!"

He cradled her face in his hands, "Scarlett needs you. I'll never forgive myself if something happened to both of us, leaving her an orphan."

Molly slipped quietly away, giving them their privacy. She didn't know where Sherlock had disappeared to so she decided to go to their room.

_How does one prepare to go and meet a madman?_

Sherlock entered the bedroom, breaking in to her thoughts. He pulled her to him, holding her close, "I won't let Brook hurt you." He spoke this into her hair.

She tightened her hold on him, "I won't let him hurt you either."

They stood like this for a number of minutes.

"What does he want Sherlock? What is he going to do?"

"He wants to end me, destroy all that I care about. He can't exist while I'm alive. Consulting Criminal competing against the Consulting Detective."

Molly leaned back so that she could look up at Sherlock, "Is that what he is though, a Consulting Criminal like his brother? Or is he just an insane man set on revenge? If what Moriarty said about Richard Brook is true, then he is just an actor, a storyteller."

"Yes. And he must have played a much larger part in bringing me down than I realized. He won't win this time though. Not this time."

A half an hour later John, Molly and Sherlock were ready to leave. Sherlock had shown Molly how to conceal the knives upon her person. She would be the only one carrying a weapon. Mycroft had assured them that he would have both ears and eyes on them at all times. Molly didn't want to know how exactly Mycroft would accomplish this without Brook being able to detect it.

They took a car and drove to Lochlane. The journey took them a little less than an hour. Mycroft's surveillance footage had shown one abandoned factory in the area. It was to here that Sherlock drove. The day was yet another cold and dreary one. The fog had abated, just a faint hint of it on the surrounding hills. No one spoke as they made their way. John had told Molly to take the front seat, he moving to the back. She was looking out the window, trying to focus her mind on the scenery and not on what they were moving towards.

"Far over the misty mountains cold …" She sang softly to herself. _I don't think I have ever been more frightened in my entire life. _Molly turned her focus away from the scenery and on to the fact that she had never seen Sherlock drive before. She hadn't even known that he could drive. It honestly didn't come as a shock to her though.

An hour later they arrived outside the building. Molly felt her heart rise to her throat. Stepping out of the car Sherlock walked around to her door and opened it. He took her hand.

"Ready?"

She nodded in reply.

The three of them walked towards the building. The area was quiet, desolate. There was no one else around. Sherlock opened the door and they stepped inside. Light filtered in through the broken windows. Pieces of machinery and glass littered the floor. Sherlock kept Molly close by his side.

A noise attracted their attention. Out of the shadows stepped Richard Brook, dressed in an impeccable suit. _Clearly the brothers have a flair for a dramatic entrance. _

"Aren't you the least bit pleased to see me?"


	9. The Great Meeting

I hope I do Richard Brook justice here … I tried!

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

:)

* * *

The Great Meeting

* * *

"Aren't you the least bit pleased to see me?" His voice held the same Irish lilt as his brother, "Honestly Sherlock, I expected so much more from you. You really are just as ordinary as my brother claimed you to be. Such a disappointment. Lovely to see your two little doctor friends though. Makes it so much easier to pop you all off at once." His eyes moved to Molly, "Shame about the girl though, my brother had a bit of a thing for you, didn't he?"

Sherlock stepped in front of her, blocking her from Brook's view. Brook's eyes met his, "Nothing quite as strong as what you have for her though, is it?"

"What is it that you want Brook?" Sherlock spat this out, Molly peeked over his shoulder. John stood mutely by his side.

Brook tilted back on to his heels, swaying slightly, "My brother wanted to burn the heart out of you. I think I'd prefer to burn you in entirety." He did a gleeful little skip, "Did you like my video? It's so much fun to send panic into the heart of society. I always was a better actor than my brother." He began to roam about, circling them. John, Molly and Sherlock turned with him, facing him at all times.

"Such a shame he isn't here to see this lovely performance. It's Oscar worthy, I'm certain."

Molly clung to the back of Sherlock's coat, wondering what Brook was getting at. Sherlock had reached behind him, his hand holding on to her hip. Brook continued with his speech.

"I'm a bit more patient than him too. Don't get bored so easily. Although, I did expect you to solve my little puzzle a bit quicker than you did. All the clues were there before you, the entire time. You always do miss something, don't you?"

Brook circled them again, like a panther stalking its prey.

"Shame that you're big brother isn't here to save you this time. Yeah, I know all about that. How he helped you jump from the roof." Brook's dark eyes drifted over to Molly, "I know how you helped him too. You did the autopsy on my brother, didn't you? Enjoyed that, did you?" He flashed her a cheeky little grin, his eyes moved back to Sherlock, "There's a fitting time to die, isn't there? Clearly that wasn't the time for you." He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small black device. He tossed it, watching as it flipped in the air before catching it. He repeated this action several times, "With my dear brother gone, and Sebbie, and soon you and you're beloved friends, I won't have anything else to live for. How about we all go together?"

As he spoke this he pushed his thumb down on a button on the device he was holding. The walls of the building erupted into flame.

"I said that I wanted to burn you, and burn you I shall!" Brook threw his head back, cackling madly as the flames shot up towards the roof, "There's no escaping this time!"

They were completely surrounded by flame. Whatever he had done to the walls, he had done well. There wasn't a single opening anywhere. The place began to fill with smoke as Brook continued to laugh maniacally. He looked about him, watching his handiwork with glee. They were all going to suffocate long before they burned.

Molly knew that Sherlock was desperately searching for a way out. Brook repeatedly taunted him, calling him 'Ordinary Sherlock;' telling him that he was going to burn. Burn. Burn. Burn!

"And don't even think for one second that if you did manage to somehow escape from this inferno, that you'd survive taking a single step outside. This entire place is surrounded by snipers. You may escape this," He gestured to the flames surrounding them, "But you'll never escape that." As he finished speaking five red laser dots appeared upon Sherlock, John and Molly.

Sherlock and John shared a look, reminiscing back to that time at the pool with Moriarty. Moriarty had survived that time, but Brook was not going to survive this. With an almost undetectable twitch of his head, Molly knew what Sherlock wanted her to do. Before slipping her hand under the back of her shirt she made certain that Brook wasn't watching her. Her fingers clasped around the knife as she pulled it out of its sheath, forcing herself to ignore the red dots on her chest. Ever so slowly she brought her hand back down to her side, shifting the knife so that it was sitting in her hand the way that Sherlock had taught her. She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Clearing her mind, she focused only on her target; Brook's jugular.

She forced as much venom as she could into her voice, "Your brother was a pathetic date. Too sweet and simpering."

Brook spun towards her, his eyes filled with rage, "James never simpered!"

Before he could let out another word Molly had thrown the knife where it hit her desired target directly. He fell to his knees, his hand clutching to his neck as the blood gushed forth.

"Bitch!" He screamed as he struggled to return to his feet.

She quickly grabbed the other knife, this time aiming directly for his wind pipe. His eyes bulged as he fell backwards. His body twitched several times before it grew still. Blood pooled about his neck.

John's mouth gaped open, shocked by Molly's ability. There was no time though for standing and gawping, a rain shower of bullets echoed about the factory walls. Sherlock shoved her and John to the ground. Molly's eyes were glued to the still form of Brook's body.

_Oh my God! I've just killed a man!_

Her mind was screaming at her, berating her for what she had done. Suddenly, just as quickly as the bullets had started they had stopped. John lifted up his head and looked around them.

"I don't understand, what happened? Why have they stopped shooting?"

Sherlock looked at him, "When has your wife ever listened to you?"

John eyes grew wide, "Mary?"

Sherlock gave him a swift nod, then stood up and grabbed Molly's hand, pulling her to her feet before leading them towards a stairwell, "We have to go to the roof! The smoke will suffocate us within less than a minute!"

He threw his body against the door that the stairs had led them too as the flames continued to climb higher and higher. The three of them burst out into the bitter cold air, the chill of it biting at their exposed skin. The drastic change from the heat to the cold helped to bring back their senses.

John rushed to the edge of the roof, "Christ it's high!"

Sherlock hadn't let go of Molly's hand. His brain was in overdrive. There had to be a way down! The roof was going to collapse within minutes. Walking towards the edge, where John was standing, Sherlock looked down.

"What do we do?"

Sherlock turned to him, "We fall."


	10. Reichenbach

Don't hate me for the title!

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

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* * *

Reichenbach

* * *

The smoke was beginning to waft up into the afternoon air. The sound of the wood and metal crackling cut through the silence.

"You can't be serious Sherlock!" John yelled at him, "That is NOT a plan! Jesus!"

Molly hadn't spoken a word. The shock of what she had done had stripped her of her ability for speech. Even her mind couldn't conjure proper, legible thoughts.  
John stormed about the roof, looking for a safer way down. But he found nothing. Suddenly he turned and faced Sherlock, "This is what it was like for you, wasn't it?"  
Sherlock glared at him, knowing exactly to what he was referring to, "The building of Bart's wasn't exactly burning John!"

He gave him a withering look, "I need to know."

Sherlock scoffed, "Now is neither the time nor the place!"

John stepped towards him, his face etched with rage, "We are about to die! I'm quite certain that that makes this the perfect time! Tell me!"

Sherlock's lips were a thin, narrow line. Over the crackling of the flames Molly began to hear another sound. A strange sound, a different sound. She narrowed her eyes, focusing on the foggy air that surrounded them. She spotted a large dark shadow. Just as Sherlock was about to open his mouth to speak she gave his hand a great tug. He turned away from John, his eyes following her hand as she pointed towards the horizon. A helicopter had flown into view.

"Mycroft."

Suddenly the roof began to shift; the building had started to collapse. The helicopter moved closer. Sherlock turned to Molly, his hand tightening around her own, his eyes locked on hers.

"We will still have to jump. The helicopter won't be able to get too close because of the heat. Hold on to me."

Nodding her head she wrapped her arms about him, burying her face in his chest.

"John, take my hand."  
The helicopter was now hovering above them, at an angle. A rope had been dropped. Just as the roof gave way, the building imploding, John and Sherlock jumped, both reaching out for the rope. Molly clung to Sherlock, far too frightened to even think of letting go of him.

_I don't think I am ever going to be afraid of anything ever again!_

For a brief moment she felt the tug of gravity, and then a tight jerk as Sherlock's hand grasped onto the rope. She then felt them being lifted into the helicopter as it moved away from the burning building.

"For God's sake! I am fine! Stop putting this bloody blanket around me!" Sherlock shoved the orange blanket away from him, his eyes moving over to where Molly was sitting as a nurse checked her over. She was seated in a large chair, huddling under an orange blanket. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed over slightly.  
They were all sitting in one of the many rooms of the Safe House. For less then ten seconds John had tried to be angry with Mary for going against what he had asked of her, but he couldn't help but be anything but pleased by the fact that she had played a very large part in helping them survive the meeting with Brook. No one was hurt. The short exposure to the smoke hadn't been damaging. Physically each of them were all right. It was psychologically that was another matter. Sherlock stood and walked over to Molly.

"She's fine." He sneered at the nurse.

Mycroft cut in, "Sherlock, let them attend to her."

"I will attend to her myself! She is perfectly fine!" With that said he scooped her up bridal style and carried her out of the room. As he walked away he overheard Mary say to Mycroft, "Let them go. Perhaps this is what they need."

Molly curled into Sherlock, one arm draped around his neck. He reeked of burning embers. Once they are in their bedroom he closed and locked the door behind them. Ever so gently he laid her down upon the bed. He hovered over her, cupping her face in his hands, their eyes meeting.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, slowly, "I will be."

This was the first time that she had spoken in over an hour.

Sherlock closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. Stretching himself out beside her he pulled her flush against him.

"Molly Hooper, you are the bravest woman I have ever known." He spoke this as he pressed kisses along her shoulder, then on to her collarbone.

"Sherlock!" Her tone is desperate.

He raised his head, looking down at her.

"I need you."

His mind instantly grasped on to what she means.

"Molly, I don't think it is wise for us to—"

She cut him off by grabbing tightly on to the front of his shirt, "I _need _you. And I think you need me too."

He nodded before she pulled him down to her for a hungry kiss. They work frantically to remove each other's clothing. Molly is frantic to feel him, to feel Sherlock inside of her. To let her know that she is real, that she is human, that she is not a terrible person for killing a man.

"He deserved to die Molly." Sherlock panted against her skin as he pressed himself against her, "Brook needed to die. He would have killed you. It was self-defense."  
Molly doesn't reply, instead only pulling Sherlock closer, wanting to feel as much of him as she can. Although he is aware of how much she needs him and wants him, Sherlock keeps his movements slow, drawing out each sensation, before at last slipping inside of her. Her tears mix with the sweat of their bodies. She had hitched her leg up, pulling him deeper into her.

"Fuck!" She whimpered, her body shuddering slightly.

He leaned forward, his lips pressed to hers, their tongues dancing as he began to increase his speed.

"Yes! Oh God, yes!" Her fingernails dug into his skin.

He kissed away her tears. She becomes undone beneath him, crying out Sherlock's name. With one final hard thrust he comes, her name on his lips. He moved to lift himself off of her but she holds on to him. They pant into each other's mouths as they begin to kiss again. Her hands are running through his curls, her fingers brushing them away from his forehead. He nestles himself between her breasts. His eyes are closed, exhaustion beginning to take over.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes," She murmured softly to him, not caring if he didn't hear her, the words needed to be said, "I love you."


	11. The Answer is No

The Answer is No

* * *

If Mycroft had had his way Sherlock and John would have been given a knighthood and Molly and Mary would have been granted the title of dame, Dame Molly Hooper and Dame Mary Watson. But Sherlock had been insistent. The answer was a most definitive, no.

Sherlock and Molly had returned to Baker Street. Molly had never been so happy to crush Toby to her chest. Although he was purring, he was also struggling to get out of her tight grasp.

"All right. All right." She put him down and he hurried over to his food bowl, mewling at her. After she had fed him she walked into the bedroom to unpack. Sherlock had been called on to a case that Lestrade had been unable to solve. "Probably because he has Anderson with him!" Sherlock had muttered under his breath. He gave her a quick kiss goodbye, promising her that he would make it up to her.

_Hmmm … and what about that other thing you had agreed to? You better not have bloody deleted it!_

After finishing unpacking, both her suitcase and his, (she knew that he would never unpack it himself and that Mrs. Hudson would probably end up doing it), she returned to the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner. She would most definitely have to do some food shopping. For now she would just have to settle with pasta and sauce.

By the time Sherlock returned, the flat was willed with the pungent smell of basil and tomatoes. Molly had just poured out the pasta and was shaking the sieve over sink. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen for a moment, she entirely oblivious to his presence. This was a sight he would never grow bored with; Molly Hooper in his flat, _their_ flat. Although he did rather prefer the sight of in his bed, naked amongst the sheets, more than anything. Just as Molly put the pasta into the waiting bowl he stepped into the kitchen.

"Oh!" Her face lit up with a bright smile, "You're back."

With a few more steps he was directly in front of her, "Yes."

"Good case?"

"Barely a pathetic five."

She let out a soft giggle which turned into a sound of pleasure as he slipped his arm around her waist before claiming her mouth with his own.

"Hungry?"

"Famished." He leaned forward, "For you." Just as he was about to kiss her again she ducked out of his grasp.

"Ah! Ah! Dinner first, that later." She told him this with a cheeky grin.

He let his arms drop to his sides, "What did you make? It smells delicious."

* * *

The next day Molly returned to work. It felt good to be back in the morgue and her lab. She had missed it. Not many people would look forward to cutting up dead bodies, but she did. Even if it meant that she repeatedly had flashes of the image of Brook lying dead before her, two knives in his throat; her handiwork.

Molly stepped back from the body she had been working on, noting how her hands were shaking. She took a few deep, calming breaths. The sound of the doors swinging open forced her to put on a brave face; a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It might be Mike Stamford, or possibly DI Lestrade. She ripped her gloves off as she spun around. It was neither one of them. It was Sherlock. A great wave of relief washed over her at the sight of him. He instantly deduced that something was wrong and rushed towards her. She fell into his arms, grasping at the front of his coat, breathing in the scent of him.

He smelled like cold air and cigarettes, the bastard had nicked a smoke! But at the moment she really didn't care. She just wanted him to hold her.

_I don't think you'll ever realize how much I love you!_

Sherlock had pressed his lips to the top of her head, his hand drawing lazy circles on her back. Neither one of them spoke for nearly five minutes. He was the first one to break the silence.

"It will pass eventually. It just takes … time. Time and … distraction." He had started to kiss down the side of her face, moving to her jaw line. She began to laugh, tipping her head to the side to give him greater access. He growled slightly into her skin before stepping away, but still holding her close.

"How come you are here? A case? Experiment?"

He shook his head, "Nope to both. I just wanted to see you."

She smiled up at him, "You saw me not even less than an hour ago!"

"So?"

She shook her head, "I need to get back to work."

"When do you get off?"

"Not for another six hours, why?"

"I thought I'd make dinner tonight."

Molly raised her eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief, "You? Cook dinner? You can cook?"

He shrugged, "I'm a graduate chemist! How hard can it be?"

She rolled her eyes, "Well, have fun with that! Try not to burn the flat down or Mrs. Hudson will have your head!"

"Oh ye of little faith."

She snorted back a laugh, "I have the Chinese take-away from down the street on speed dial. Text me if you need me to stop there on my way home." She pressed a kiss to his lips before stepping out of his embrace.

Six hours later and she had not received a text from him. Her fingers twitched to call for take-away but she held herself back. If Sherlock wanted to cook, then he was going to cook. She cleaned up her things, slipped out of her lab coat and got a cab home.

_Please let the building still be standing!_

Molly let out a breath of relief as the cab pulled up outside of 221. There were no visual sighs of smoke coming from the upstairs flat. She hurried inside, pausing for a moment as a most delicious smell welcomed her.

_He didn't! He did?_

She made her way up the stairs, knowing that he would have heard her come in and begin to wonder why she was taking so long to come up. The smell only grew stronger as she opened the door of 221B. He greeted her just as she walked in, helping her off with her coat. She unwound her multi-coloured scarf.

"Hello."

"Hi."

They kissed for a few moments.

"What did you make? It smells divine!"

He led her towards the kitchen, "Shepherd's pie. Your favourite."

"Shepherd's pie? How did you know that was my favourite?" She stopped him just as he opened his mouth, "Don't answer that, of course, you deduced it!"

The pie was sitting on a cooling rack. Molly stared at it in awe; it looked like it had come straight from a restaurant. But clearly it didn't, it was in one of her dishes and it even had little bits of burnt potato on the side. A clear sign that Sherlock had in fact made this himself. She turned and looked at him.

"This looks fantastic! You did this all yourself? No one helped you?"

"No. Of course not!"

"Not Mrs. Hudson?"

"No."

"Or John?"

"NO!"

He let out an annoyed huff, "Why do you think me incapable of cooking?"

She stepped towards him, slipping her hands over his waist, "I don't think you're incapable. You've just surprised me, that's all. I like surprises."

He smiled down at her, "Hungry?"

"Mmmhmmm."

After dishing themselves each a serving they settled down at the table. Sherlock moved her chair closer to his. He silently watched her as she took the first bite.

"Well?"

She chewed for a moment, then swallowed, "Sherlock, this is the best Shepherd's pie I have ever eaten!"

He let out an enormous, relieved sigh, "I'm glad to know. I haven't exactly cooked anything in ages." He took a few bites, a pleased smile on his face. They ate silently for a little while.

"What recipe did you use?" Molly asked as she stood, "Seconds?"

He nodded and she took up both their plates.

"I uhh …"

"You did use a recipe, didn't you? Or did you just look at a photo of Shepherd's pie and deduce the ingredients?" She dished another serving on to their plates and returned to the table. He didn't eat anymore, just moved the food about on his plate with his fork.

"Sherlock?"

"All right fine, I followed a video on YouTube!"

Molly let out a soft chuckle, "Why couldn't you have just told me that in the first place? There's nothing wrong with that! I've used YouTube loads of times to learn things! Sometimes it just helps to have visual stimuli instead of words on paper."

Sherlock moved to cradle her face in his hands and kissed her, "Thank you."

She leaned in to him, "No, thank you! This was wonderful." She kissed him again. He pulled her onto his lap, causing her to straddle him as he deepened the kiss.

"It's going to get cold!" Molly protested.

"Suddenly I am not hungry for food anymore." He replied before he stood up from the chair, wrapping her legs about his waist.

They continued to kiss as he moved them towards the bedroom. She let out a soft moan that was very nearly his undoing as they collapsed onto the bed, his full weight almost entirely on her. They didn't bother to fully remove their clothing, too desperate, too hungry for each other.

_I love how passionate you are!_

This was Molly's last legible thought, as Sherlock's movements and ministrations quickly clouded her mind. All she could focus on was the pleasure he was giving her.

The only sounds in the room were their heavy panting, when she could at last think a bit more clearly. She slipped her body up over his, after they had removed themselves of their clothes. He was lying on his back, his face flushed from the exertion, curls clinging to his forehead. Her stomach was pressed against his, her breasts upon his chest. His hands came up to rest on her hips, she hovered her face over his, their eyes meeting. She could feel his soft, warm breath against her cheek. Bringing up one of her hands she smoothed back his damp curls before slipping her fingers down his temple, to along his cheekbone.

"I love you."

She felt his voice rumble in his chest, the vibrations sending sparks through her veins, as he answered her, "I love you too."

Silence filled the room, both taking the time to let the realization sink in of what had just taken place. Leaning forward she gave him a long, drawn out kiss. One of his hands trailed up her back, directly along her spinal column, stopping when it came to the back of her head. They didn't part until they were desperate for air.

"I confessed my love for you, once before, but you didn't say you loved me back."

She hid her face in his neck, "I know. I didn't want to frighten you."

His chest rumbled again, but this time with laughter, "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

He slipped his hands down to her head, cradling her face, forcing her to pick her head up and look at him, "I did mean it. I do mean it."

She kissed him again.

The next morning she was woken up by the sound of Sherlock moving about the room.

"Mmmmffff … what are you doing?" She peered out at him through her mess of hair. He was completely naked, standing in front of a suitcase. _I really do love that arse of his! _He spun about. _The front isn't too bad either. _She was certain she was blushing.

"Good, you're awake." He stepped over to her, leaning down to give her a kiss, "You need to pack."

She had just been in the act of pulling him down onto the bed with her, but stopped with her hand mid-air.

"Pack? What do you mean, pack? I just unpacked a few days ago!"

He scoffed, returning to the suitcase, "I know, but you need to pack again. We are going somewhere."

"Somewhere?"

"Yes! Now stop repeating everything I say. Be sure to bring clothes for warm weather."

She narrowed her eyes at him but decided it was useless to pepper him with questions, knowing all too well that the end result would be him getting annoyed. So, she packed.

He wouldn't tell her where he was taking her. Not giving a single hint as they boarded the plane that Mycroft had procured for their own use. Settling down into their seats Sherlock gave her a chaste kiss before a stewardess brought them each a glass of champagne. Molly shook her head as he kissed her again, this time a bit more deeply, before leaning back into his seat with a satisfied smile on his face.

_The man has always liked a good mystery. _

It wasn't until her toes were buried in the pure white sand, her eyes taking in the crystalline blue of the ocean before her, that it all became very real. Sherlock had made good of his promise to her; he had taken her somewhere tropical and warm; Tahiti.

He had changed out of his usual dark attire, and was now wearing a pair of beige linen pants and a white button up shirt. _Oh. Oh my. I thought that nothing but a tight cut suit would ever look so delicious on him, but damn, this is a good look. _She was determined though that he would not be wearing these clothes for much longer. But for the moment she only wanted to rush to the waters edge and feel it lapping at her feet.

The area of the island that they were on was remote. A simple bungalow filled with anything they may ever need. She wasn't entirely certain how long Sherlock would manage to stay here until he became bored, so she was willing to enjoy every possible minute.

She let out a loud shriek as he put his arms about her from behind, lifting her slightly up off of her feet as he kissed her shoulder. The water splashed up onto their legs as she leaned back into him, humming happily.

"Thank you." She turned her head so that it met his, "Put me down so that I can thank you properly."

He did, letting her drop to the soft sand; she quickly spun about and kissed him deeply. He lowered her to her knees and was about to press her down onto her back, but she was too quick for him. Before he knew it she had him pinned. He chuckled into her mouth as the warm water washed over their lower bodies. Just as their kiss grew more heated he gently pushed her away.

"I don't think having sex in the sand would be too comfortable."

She rolled her eyes but allowed him to move her onto her back before helping her to her feet; he clasped his hand in hers as they moved towards the bungalow.

"Perhaps we can try that later, with a blanket? I think it would be nice, so out in the open. No one else is around. I'd like to see you like that, your skin glowing in the sun."

Sherlock shook his head, "More like burning in the sun, we'll turn bright red as lobsters, you and I with our pale English skin."

_Mmmm … not exactly a sexy sight. _

"How about an umbrella?"

He chuckled again, "You're incorrigible."

"So are you."

They had reached the bungalow. She wanted to explore it, get to know its every crook and cranny, but the last kiss he had ended with had left her wanting more. Much more. Clearly reading her thoughts he pulled her to him, continuing that very kiss with fervor. She sighed into his mouth as he led her towards the bedroom, where a large, spacious bed awaited them. They peeled off each other's clothing, it clinging to their bodies, wet from the ocean. Falling onto the bed she dragged him down with her. He laughed at her desperation, but it quickly turned into a groan as she worked her expert hands on him.

Later the sound of the waves crashing on the shore echoed throughout the bungalow. The sea air drifted in on the breeze as the curtains floated about, the windows left wide open. The only light was coming from the moon, filling the room with a silvery glow. Sherlock was certain that he had never before seen Molly looking quite so angelic.

The only sound in their room was that of the ocean and their desperate kisses. His body was hovering above hers; she had a leg hooked over one of his. She wanted him again, and he wanted her, but he wouldn't comply until she gave him the answer he so greatly needed.

"Why do you keep saying no?" He murmured this in to her mouth, hardly able to break apart their kiss.

_Damn it. He's not going to let up, is he?_

She let out a soft huff of air, her breath warm against his lips, "Because I know how you feel about marriage. What you really think of it."

He pulled away ever so slightly, peering down at her, "Would I continue to ask you if my thoughts on it hadn't changed?"

Her mind went blank for a moment, "You really, truly want to marry me?"

His eyes have locked on to hers, "Yes, I do. I already consider you to be mine and I'm quite certain you think of me as yours, but I would rather like to make it official, legal, what have you." He's dropped his head down, suckling at the spot where her neck curves. Her eyelids flutter closed.

_Focus. Focus. Focus! Oh damn, that feels so good!_

"Sod it. Fine, I'll marry you!"

He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing, "Don't say it like that! You're making it sound like I am forcing you to do something you don't want to." He blinked rapidly, "You do want to spend the rest of your life with me … don't you?"

_After all that we've been through, he is still going to doubt me?_

She reached up, cupping his face in her hands so that she can pull him down closer to her, "Ask me again Sherlock."

He swallowed, licking his lips before saying, "Marry me?"

"Yes."

With a loud and relieved sigh he dropped his head further down, his mouth meeting hers in a passionate kiss. She slipped her hands to the back of his neck, playing with the curls at his nape. He took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he pressed it down into the mattress. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, the room filling with their moans and happy sighs.

Quite sometime later their bodies are slick with sweat, the sheets are a rumpled mess and the duvet is in a heap on the floor. A gust of the cool sea air came rushing into the room. Molly watched as it made Sherlock's curls flutter slightly. Only a few moments before he had slyly slipped a ring onto her finger while he was distracting her with his all too-talented mouth. The diamond glistened in the moonlight. Sitting up she moved until she was straddling his stomach, her legs resting on either side of him. As she leaned forward her hair brushed across his chest. Their eyes are locked on each others, their hearts still beating rather rapidly.

"Are we really doing this?"

He moved his hands up her arms, not stopping until they come to rest on either side of her face. She allowed him to gently pull her downwards until her lips were hovering just above his.

"Yes."

THE END

* * *

Ahh me … we have reached the end *sniffle* Thank you all for sticking with this story! Glad you enjoyed it so much! I certainly enjoyed writing it! :D

on tumblr? my personal one is thesecitystreets and my fanfic one is sherlockian87

:)

Reviews make me smile :D


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